You and I
by MarcoLover16
Summary: Set after Edward left in New Moon. Bella is miserable, and Charlie tries to comfort her. He doesn't think he will ever forgive Edward for making his daughter so unhappy. Bella wishes she were more like her mother, but she knows who she may really become.


Author's Note: I actually like this. I'm not sure how good it is, but I liked composing it. This takes place after Edward left and before Bella started spending a lot of time with Jacob. It probably fits in during October or November. I hope you like it. Please review. :) I have a very big interest in Bella's family life, so…this is only one of my stories that Charlie is involved in.

I would never become like him.

Bella had never in her life had a moment's hatred for either one of her parents. The two of them had made so many mistakes, but they always tried so hard to make her happy. She was always their number one priority.

From the first day of Kindergarten, Bella knew she wanted to be her mother.

Renée was beautiful. Her hair always stayed the way she wanted it on that particular day, no matter what style that was. Her eyes were bright blue, standing out uniquely, so different from her dark hair.

Her body was forced to reject weight. If a pound came near her, it would be pushed immediately away. She did not gain weight. She did not lose weight. She did not eat a good variety of things; she was a strict Vegan, but it didn't matter. She could have lived solely on candy canes and no one would know the difference.

Yes, she was perfectly designed for greatness. She had the looks, the brain, and the talent.

But she didn't take advantage of any of it.

It frustrated Bella greatly. She knew she would never be as pretty, as tall, as smart, as funny as her mother, despite the fact that she tried so hard. It didn't make sense to her. Why would a woman so perfect in every way live such a ridiculously imperfect life? She was _wasting _her God-given beauty.

And if she didn't plan to use it, couldn't she have passed it on to her daughter?

Apparently not.

Her dad was a different story.

She had spent years trying to figure out why he waited for Renée. She wasn't coming back. She had made that painfully clear.

He had nothing going for him, nothing to help him win. He was far from wealthy. He was definitely no genius—but, of course, he wasn't _stupid_—and he, just like Bella, was apparently empty.

It didn't matter how much Bella had hoped to be her mother, how much she had practiced to be a ballerina, to be poised and fashion-crazy. It didn't work. It didn't fool anybody. And it certainly didn't make her happy.

So, Bella suffered in silence.

Through her whole childhood, she kept a beautiful—though not nearly as beautiful as her mother's—smile on her face. She kept her mouth shut and her feelings buried within her. No one needed to hear her thoughts, her opinions, her fears, or her concerns. They were hers and hers alone.

Besides, no one wanted to know.

And that wasn't an exaggeration. She had never before been asked her opinion. When freaking Billy Cohen had asked her in first grade to be his freaking Valentine on freaking Valentine's Day, all the nasty little first graders didn't care about her _Should I?s, _her _Why?s, _and her _No._

All the first graders, including Billy Cohen, expected her to say, "Yes."

It didn't matter that she had no idea what a Valentine was. Did anyone know? Was there even a definition for it? It didn't matter that Bella really didn't want to be a Valentine.

The kids told her to, and that was that. She was Billy Cohen's Valentine until he met Maria Jones a few days later.

Bella also had no choice in the matter of the De-Valentineification. She was just dumped.

The same thing happened when Renée got remarried. It didn't matter how Bella felt about it. She was expected to be the jovial maid of honor when the wedding day came. So she was.

So, since no one cared about them anyway, she kept her feelings inside. She supposed she'd gotten this from Charlie, as she got almost everything else from him. And though she loved him more than anything, she hated what she knew she would eventually become.

What she already _had _become.

Alone.

For all Bella knew, Edward and her mother could have been in Phoenix having a tea party (Edward would, of course, pass on the tea) together. He was nowhere to be found.

The cold, hard, truth was that neither one of them would return to Forks. And neither Charlie nor Bella would leave Forks until one of them did.

Bella stared blankly at herself in the mirror. She hated her reflection. Her brown eyes, her wavy hair, her chapped lips, her bruised temple. She hated it all.

But most of all, she hated her stupid heart for it convincing herself to let her guard down.

_Believe him, Bella_, it had said softly. _He loves you, Bella,_ it said. Finally, she let herself believe the ludicrous idea that Edward Cullen loved her.

And then he left her in pieces.

Without thinking, Bella pulled off her left shoe and threw it at the mirror. It didn't have quite the effect she wanted. She missed it completely.

Her sudden agitated scream had Charlie running up the stairs to her.

It had been weeks since Bella had shown any of her usually passionate anger. Charlie was just so happy to see something other than misery in her eyes.

When Charlie entered Bella's room, she was sitting on the end of her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest. One shoe was on, and the other foot only had a ripped up sock to warm it. Her head rested on her knees, and she was shaking.

"Bella," Charlie said, shocked. He rushed to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. "Bella, what's wrong?"

"Everything," she said, suppressing tears. "Just—he's not—"

"I know," said Charlie, understanding.

And though Charlie feared nothing more than tears, he sat on the bed beside her, pulled her against his chest, and said softly, "You can cry, Bella."

She let the tears pour out. "I don't know what I did wrong," she said, hysterical. "Everything was so—so perfect."

"I know," said Charlie. "You did nothing wrong."

"No," said Bella. "I did. I—"

Bella briefly remembered the blood, the way Jasper lost control that day that seemed so long ago. She thought of that tiny cut and laughed darkly.

"I screwed up," she said.

If only she had been more careful. If she only _tried _to keep herself safe at all times, maybe—maybe he wouldn't have lost patience with her. Maybe if she weren't such a burden on everyone, he would have stayed for a little while longer.

"I always—always screw up," she whispered, no longer caring how pathetic she sounded.

"_He _screwed up, Bella," Charlie said, lifting her chin up. He stared into her eyes. "He screwed up. He ruined it. He left and—" Charlie shook his head furiously. "I hate what he's done to you. Part of me thinks I should kill him."

Bella laughed humorlessly. "Nobody can kill Edward."

Charlie didn't question what she meant. "Then I might die trying."

It was so rare for Charlie and Bella to speak so openly about their feelings. For so long, they had both thought it best to leave these terrible ideas inside, to go on pretending to be as happy as everyone else. Neither felt anyone truly cared to know what was going on inside.

But for the first time, they opened up to each other, knowing that even if the whole world couldn't understand, even if the whole world cared nothing about what they had to say, they understood each other.

Bella always wanted to be her mother because her mother didn't have any pain. She _caused _pain very easily and left her messes behind her. She never took responsibility for any of the wrongs she had done.

But for one moment—who knew how long it would last?—she was glad to be just like her father. She was glad she was able to understand the pain he had gone through. She could be there for him the way no one else was. She was glad that they understood each other's minds without speaking. For so long, they'd known what was inside but _kept _it inside. Now, it had come out. And it felt good.

"If you hate Edward," Bella said, smiling sadly, "you have to hate mom, too."

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "How about the two of us just go on hating ourselves?" Charlie teased. He used the plural, showing Bella that he understood that they were both in the same boat, that he blamed himself, too. Whether or not it was right, it was true.

"Let's just stop using the word hate," said Bella, sniffling. "I miss him."

"I know you do," said Charlie, squeezing her shoulder.

Bella understood that what he meant was, "I miss her, too." He really didn't have to say anything for her to know what he meant. They knew each other so much better than that.

"Pizza tonight?" Bella suggested. She did not feel like getting up to cook.

Charlie smiled and stood up. "Sounds good."

Maybe they would talk about it again. Maybe they wouldn't.

Maybe they would begin to have a relationship where they were completely open about everything, where they could discuss their problems in great detail, and tell each other that they would stay close forever.

But probably not. It was, after all, assumed.

Author's Note: Maybe I don't like it. I don't know.


End file.
